A Visit to Chaos
by Arabella Thorne
Summary: Written on the run at work: All righty then: THIS is the first Elrond/Dolengil story. On his arrival to Minas Tirith, the orcs are running amuck in the city and hes trying to get to the Halls of Healing...once things settle down though, a special patient


I will try this again, and hopefully it will all make more sense! This will be the tale of Dolengil's arrival in Minas Tirith.  
  
I agree with one reviewer: Aragorn would certainly know his step father. Okay, go with me here: lets say Elrond has put a glamour upon himself that turns people away from delving too deeply into who he is. I think I will also make him dark skinned.and it is hard to hide those piercing eyes, but again, a glamour is upon him to avoid questions.  
  
I did think briefly of having him reveal himself to Aragorn and Aragorn says nothing to anyone else, but I prefer the complete incognito. And part of my thinking also was: where is the last place you'd expect your father to be? In Rivendell where he is supposed to be, or by your side in the midst of a siege? Sometimes you can't notice the things right under your nose...even when looking right at them.  
  
Also Aragorn does not spend all his time in the Halls of Healing: he has battles to fight and a throne to secure.  
  
Besides, let me be frank here.I am really enamored of this particular idea. I really LIKE the idea of Elrond incognito!  
  
And, if you like the story, that's good enough for me!  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
Dolengil arrived in Minas Tirith in the midst of chaos.  
  
A troop of orcs had breached a weak spot in the city wall and had come swarming through, heedless of who was in front of them, intent on doing as much damage as possible before being stopped.  
  
They did just that.  
  
35 citizens died and almost that many were injured. And all this occurred during a larger offensive outside the city walls, where a troop of Gondorian pike men had been cut off from their regiment and slaughtered almost to the man. The few 'almosts' were being carted into Minas Tirith, just as the orcs breached the walls.  
  
"Take them down Halyard's Walk Sergeant Falas!! Behind the fish market!! The orcs are headed up Traveler's Way! " The sergeant whipped his laboring mare, who pulled a cart of four badly injured and thankfully unconscious soldiers up the rocky cobbled street and made the desired turning. He winced as he heard the scream of a horse. "Come on Daisy, pull girl, pull! We've got to get these lads to the Halls of Healing!"  
  
Dragging the reins around, he spurred Daisy into a narrower street that he knew ran behind part of the University and was a short cut to the Halls.  
  
All around him, the man heard screaming and the crash of stone as the orcs pulled down statues and brickwork behind them to avoid pursuit. Smoke curled up over the rooftops and drifted around the corner in front of him. Covering his mouth, he persuaded Daisy to keep going through the thickening air. But the smoke obscured his turning and it was several minutes before Sergeant Falas realized his mistake.  
  
The street was too narrow to turn the cart around, so he hopped down and got Daisy by the head and made her back up.  
  
Aragaghk sniffed around the corner. Was that horse and man flesh he smelt? He hadn't gotten much of the carrion this morning and he was feeling peckish. Smashing and crashing was all very good for the well fed lieutenants, but the foot soldiers need meat! He peered through the smoke and his ears perked up. A man, a horse AND a cart full of dead meat, or almost dead meat! He rubbed his stomach and approached the distracted soldier.  
  
Dolengil slipped smoothly through careening people and terrified horses as only an elf could. Utilizing the glamour he had spun about himself to keep any wayward eyes from recognizing the Lord of Imladris, his skin dark as a man of far Harad made it even easier for him to cut through the streaming people, just another stranger.  
  
He wore dun-colored cloth wrapped about him in an intricate pattern over a deep red robe. His long hair was covered, as was the lower part of his face with the same material as his wrappings. A leather band picked out with gold lay on his head to keep the cloth in place.  
  
He made his way to the Halls of Healing. Unarmed, save for a dagger, he knew he could not enter the fray, much as he wanted to (and much as he had done millennia before). Despite the fighting going on around him, he knew his skills would be put to better use in the Halls.  
  
Just as he pulled his face cloth tighter around his mouth, he heard the nervous whinnying of a horse and the anxious directions from a man down a small side street. "Come on girl, there you go! Don't stop now! Whoa now! Settle Daisy, settle!"  
  
What Dolengil also saw, was an orc sneaking along the wall on the far side of the cart, the swirling smoke covering his approach. He paused to look at the contents and that was when Dolengil struck. Faster than sight, Dolengil ran silently up to the orc and judging his blow carefully, thrust between the plates of the creature's armor, going for the heart. The orc gurgled and turned, swinging with an axe. Dolengil ducked swiftly and like a dancer, dodged, curveted and rolled away from the orc's increasingly weaker slashes. In a few minutes, the creature stopped and dropped to the cobbles dead.  
  
Through the acrid smoke, Dolengil saw a grizzled soldier gaping at him. Casting a glance at the cartload of injured, he came up to the startled man. Wiping his blade carefully with the edge of his robe, he sheathed it and asked calmly, his eyes bright. "Are you all right?"  
  
Sergeant Falas had been struck dumb by the swiftness of the attack and its conclusion. Snapping his jaw shut in the amused face of his rescuer, he pulled himself together and took a deep breath. "My thanks stranger! You've saved these lads from further pain! I was just trying to get them to the Halls." "I will help you. The left rear wheel is stuck."  
  
The smoke drifted thick just as Dolengil, wedging a shoulder under the back end of the cart, jostled the wheel loose from where it was wedged between broken stones. Kicking the stones out of the way, he let loose with a peculiar long whistle. Daisy lifted her head with a snort and continued to go in reverse. Sergeant Falas, relieved, patted Daisy on the neck as she moved back. "Thank you sir! Thank you! These lads are in a bad way." "I can see that, ah. your name good soldier?" "Sergeant Falas, at your service." "I am going to the Halls myself. I am Dolengil" "Thanks. If you'll just make sure the lads don't get jostled too much, I'll keep a hand on ol'Daisy here." "Fine." Dolengil, whose eyes had not left the wounded since lifting the cart, saw that two of the men were bleeding through the rough bandages. The other two lay pale and still, but were alive.  
  
In a few minutes, the cart pulled into the large stone courtyard of the Halls of Healing.  
  
The area seethed with the wounded and those bringing them in for treatment. Horses made nervous by the commotion and the smell of blood were hard put to keep from stamping on the milling crowd. Billows of smoke swept through the crowd, adding coughing to the sounds of cries and shouting.  
  
Dolengil helped Sergeant Falas maneuver the cart as close to the door as possible. Seeing it would be almost impossible to get any stretchers, Dolengil picked the worst of the wounded, a young man bleeding from chest and arm. Getting in the cart, he gently lifted him and without jostling the soldier, got him in the doors. Moving through the crowd swiftly and gracefully, in spite of the chaos around him, Dolengil entered the main Hall where the wounded were being assessed. A harried linen maid pointed out an as yet unused row of pallets. Dolengil quickly put the young man down and did a swift exam. He would live. He hurriedly went back to the cart to get the others.  
  
It was just as he was finishing stitching a deep gash on the side of a soldier, that he felt a change come over the crowd and surprisingly, the Hall grew quieter. Turning only when he had tied off the knot, Dolengil looked to the room, leaving a hand on the boy's side.  
  
A group of soldiers came through carrying a stretcher, whereupon laid an unconscious man. Why had the Hall gone silent? Was it one of the leaders.?  
  
Dolengil's face went pale and his hand on the boy dropped to the table clenching the edge so hard, the wood splintered. Oh Elbereth, it was Aragorn! He turned swiftly to the wounded soldier under his hand and with barely a tremor, salved the wound and neatly bound it, pausing to send some energy to speed the healing. Wiping his hands very carefully with a cloth dipped in boiling water, Dolengil took a deep breath and turned to track the wounded Aragorn.  
  
He had been placed along the wall in one of the few remaining pallets and Dolengil saw several healers move to his side.  
  
He took a few steps towards his son and then stopped. The others were competent enough to deal with whatever injury Aragorn had sustained. It was obvious he was neither badly injured, or dead.  
  
Turning back to the sleeping soldier, Dolengil went smoothly through the actions of cleaning up the area and returning unused supplies to the baskets left out for that purpose.  
  
Slightly surprised, he looked up and noticed he was only a few feet from the unconscious Aragorn. His heightened awareness swept over the still form, assessing and testing what he could from a distance.  
  
There were only two healers at his side when Dolengil joined them. Neither looked too worried. But as he reached out a hand to touch his son's shoulder, the healer closest to him turned and smiled. "Ah, tis Dolengil, the healer from the far east. Thanks for your help today, it was sorely needed." Dolengil had briefly explained himself to this healer when asked earlier in the supply room.  
  
Dolengil bowed. "You are welcome. Who is this, that everything comes to a halt here?"  
  
"Ah, being a stranger you wouldn't know. It is Lord Aragorn, Gondor's heart and soon to be its king."  
  
Dolengil stilled his face to keep his emotions from shining out. "Ah." He looked down to the stone floor. "What is your diagnosis?"  
  
"He has just taken a hard knock and a gash to the head. He rousted a gaggle of orcs from some cornered soldiers and had his horse killed under him. He kept going until the last orc, dying from his sword thrust, hit him with his axe as it died."  
  
Dolengil took a deep breath and decided his playacting patience was at an end. He speared the healer with his glance, smiling slightly, his eyes blazing in their intenseness. The healer stepped back, blinking, saying uncertainly, "I will see to-to the supplies," turned and almost ran. Dolengil allowed himself a wider smile and bent to take Aragorn's pulse.  
  
  
  
The Hall was quiet at last. The day's chaos had whirled down into a few sleepy moans and stirrings. The moon had risen high enough to pour down from the windows up under the eaves of the ornately carved wooden ceiling. A candle burned by the door to the main examining room, but otherwise the Hall was dark.  
  
Aragorn lay sleeping, his head wrapped in clean linen, his body washed and dressed in a long white night shirt. The moonlight touching his form, glowed from his body like a blessing. Dolengil sat in the shadows nearby, his eyes glittering with a drop of moonlight as well.  
  
Aragorn moved slightly in his sleep. "Back you beasts! Garthon! To the walls! They are coming!"  
  
Dolengil rose quietly and went to his son's side. Laying a hand on his forehead he frowned slightly at the warmth. He went to the supply room and mixed a pain and fever reliever.  
  
Returning, he sat by his son, holding the goblet with the medicine in it, staring at Aragorn's lightly sweat-sheened face. He smiled softly, and ran a hand gently across his forehead. "It is not easy being the center of the storm, is it Estel?"  
  
"Father?" Aragorn moved his head uneasily. "Father, do not be angry with me.us! Please Ada, please, listen..."  
  
"I am here Estel. Shhh. The world changes as we stand on it. You are the future and I, I am soon to be lost in the mists of history and legend. I am not angry. I love you, my Estel."  
  
He bent and lay a kiss on the damp forehead.  
  
Aragorn sighed and opened his eyes. Dolengil immediately stood back in the shadows, only the gold on his leather headband and his eyes catching the light. "Who is there?" "I am the healer Dolengil, my lord," he answered in his best healer's voice, slightly changed with an unplaceable accent. "You have a nasty gash on your head from a wayward orc axe. You are in the Halls of Healing and it is two hours past midnight."  
  
Aragorn tried to sit up, but quickly sunk back down, bringing a hand to his head with a groan. Dolengil smiled in the dark and then, careful to stand in shadow, his hand extended out of the darkness holding the goblet. "If you drink this my lord, it will clear your head and allow you to rest."  
  
Aragorn sat up slowly at that, and shakily reached for the goblet. Making a face at the bitterness, he drank it quickly and fell back against the pillow, letting the wooden goblet drop to the floor. Sleepily, his eyes scanned the room for the source of the voice. It was so much like Elrond's. He blinked as he finally saw the glitter of his father's eyes in the deep shadow.  
  
"Dolengil, eh? That, that," he yawned suddenly. "it means 'hidden light' in Sindarin. I was not aware there were any Elvish healers in the Halls." He yawned again and his eyes shut. "I hope you will not continue to hide from me." Dolengil stepped out of the shadows, letting the moonlight bath him in an unearthly glow as he looked down at sleeping Aragorn, his ageless face suffused with love. "Only for a little while, my son. Only for a little while." 


End file.
